Distorted Mirrors
by find me at x skairipa
Summary: Enjolras could not understand why Bash did not love him. And Bash could not understand what he had done to be loved so horrifically. Dark, kidnapping, angst, violence. This story is on a permanent hiatus. I'm sorry.
1. Chapter 1

**[Author's Note]** So...I'm back. I haven't posted anything since I think January, and this is my first time trying to post a Reign fic, so be gentle? :P This is based off a role play plot I've been doing since this summer with DoYouKnowWhatStarsAre?, but I'm writing and posting this fic on my own. Lord Enjolras is her creation and I'm writing him with her permission. This might be a bit of a long fic. Multi-chapter for sure.

 **Distorted Mirrors**

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Chapter 1

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Lord Enjolras knew he was head-over-heels in love with Sebastian de Poitiers, the king's bastard. He knew that he was, and that was why he had taken him, even if Bash himself did not understand this yet. He _did_ love Bash, and he meant to teach Bash to be good and to love him too.

Carrying a tray of food, Enjolras made his way down the stairs into the grimy, dark dungeon and stepped into the dark little hole of a room he had put Bash in.

What he saw made him pause. After days of resisting, of demanding to be freed and turned over to his brother, the Dauphin, Bash had finally given in and gone to sleep on the tattered and dirty blanket that Enjolras had so graciously provided for him.

He only stood there for a moment, an internal war raging within him. He had come down here to see his new lover – and Bash _would_ grow to love him – but should he leave and come back later?

No, he finally decided.

He had been away from him too long already.

So, kneeling on the grimy floor, he made to brush Bash's hair from his eyes in an effort to wake him gently, but Bash almost immediately startled awake.

Enjolras merely grinned down at him with blindingly white teeth.

"I brought you food," he announced, leaning down to kiss Bash on the cheek and pretending that he did not see the manner in which his prisoner flinched away from him. "I brought you apples – that aren't rotten this time – and meat – a good deal of it – and bread that I bought off a farmer up the road."

"Where is the farmer?" Bash immediately asked, his tone far too innocent, and Enjolras instantly gave him a disapproving scowl.

"You know I can't tell you that, Bash," he snapped out, and Bash flinched as soon as his name left his captor's mouth, although the other man could not imagine why. "How can I tell you where you are? What if you try to _escape?_ "

His hands began to wander lewdly over Sebastian's body. Yet again, Bash flinched at his touch. Enjolras just couldn't understand what on earth was wrong with him, or why Bash did not like being touched like that. Surely he saw how much Enjolras loved him.

"I – I can't escape, Enjolras. How would I -?

"Bash! What did I tell you? I am your master, and when you speak to me you will address me as such." Enjolras felt his anger flare up, sharp and irrational, but he tried to keep his voice calm and level for now. For the time being, he wanted to be gentle with his little pet before he had to resort to harsher methods.

Bash was silent after that, and once again Enjolras's hands began to move over his body – until, to his utmost confusion, Bash jerked himself away, pressing his back up against the wall.

"Please stop."

Enjolras saw red.

"What? I _brought_ you food. _Personally._ You _owe_ me!" he exclaimed, his frustration clear in his tone. Why did his pet have to be so foolish? Could he not see the way things were meant to work? Perhaps he should have found someone more intelligent – but then again, he couldn't help it if he was in love with Bash.

"I – "

"No ! You _owe_ me!" he howled, and his hand flew up – seemingly of its own volition – to slam into Bash's jaw. He saw the bastard's head snap back, heard the cracking sound it made when it struck the wall, and he knew that he should be sorry for harming his soon-to-be lover, but he was not.

"You owe me! _You owe me_!"

"Master – I – Enjolras.."

And then, as quickly as it had come, the rage went away, at least for the most part. Enjolras sprang to his feet, breathing heavily, and kicked the food tray over, sending it spilling it across the floor.

"Since you have decided to be so…damn ungrateful, consider this the last meal you'll see for a while," he said with an ever-darkening scowl as he departed the room and the door slammed shut.

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 **[Author's Note 2]** So...if anyone reads this, would you like the next chapter to be from Francis, back in France? Or from Bash? Or from Enjolras again? Please let me know in a review.


	2. Chapter 2

**Distorted Mirrors**

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 **Chapter 2**

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Bash could hear his captor's footsteps outside in the corridor.

Although he felt as if every bone in his body must be broken, he slowly rose to his feet and made his way to the door of his little cell, peering out into the dark corridor in hopes of assessing Enjolras's mood before the man lashed out at him. Sure enough, although he could not yet make out Enjolras's facial features, he could see the torchlight bobbing toward him.

Within a moment or so, Enjolras was in front of his cell, and his mood became clear when his first movement was to strike out at Bash's hands on the bars of the cell with a whip.

Sharp, new pain lanced across Bash's knuckles and he drew in a sharp breath, clutching his now-bloodied fingers to his chest and reeling back as the door flew open with a loud clang.

"Why hasn't the king paid the ransom yet?" Enjolras demanded, advancing on Bash.

Although Bash had, of course, seen him fly into his tantrums before - for Enjolras was rather like a child in some aspects of the word - he had never seen him quite this angry. "I sent it out last week! And I've had you here for a month! Why doesn't Francis pay it?"

Bash, not wanting to risk upsetting his captor further, attempted to keep his voice calm as he responded.

"Perhaps Francis knows that you do not intend to release me, should he pay it. Perhaps he knows you love me." Yes, Bash knew of his captor's absolute insistence that he was in love with him. At first, Bash had tried to convince him that this was not so...that the way Enjolras treated him was not...love. He had quickly given up on this venture, once it was clear beyond a doubt that his captor was insane. "Perhaps he has not received your note. It could have been lost, or -"

The whip flew out again, this time slicing into Bash's cheek. "Shut the hell up, Bash." Enjolras snarled out the words, his appearance positively demented by now.

Bash knew better than to speak again, and so he was quiet this time, his head bowed.

"Don't ignore me!" Enolras half-screamed. Again, the whip shot out, missing Bash by only an inch or so. This time, Bash realized, his captor was not just in the midst of a childish tantrum. This was true anger, and his life could be at risk.

"Make him pay it, Bash!"

"I - I can't -" Bash spluttered, truly beginning to fear for himself for the first time in some time. Before, he had merely believed that Enjolras was mad, that he was infatuated with him. Not that he was a true danger. "I'm here with you, I can't even contact -"

"Then I'm going to make him."

Quite suddenly, the anger was gone from his face, replaced the smile of an absolute madman, and he was kneeling on the floor next to Bash.

After a moment, he spoke again. "I'm going to make a package for Francis," he said, and strode to the door.

It was not until Enjolras returned with a metal rod - clearly heated in a fire, judging by the red glaze to it and the heat he could feel even from here - and a knife that Bash began to realize what that could mean.

"I'm going to show him what I can do to you," Enjolras told him, that smile still in place, and he pressed the burning fire poker to Bash's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**[A/N] I am so sorry for the wait on this fic. I had no access to a laptop until recently when I can get a new one. Updates will be coming as quickly as I can manage.**

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 **Distorted Mirrors**

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 **Chapter 3**

The package had arrived that morning, and Mary truly was not sure she had ever seen Francis so distraught. The contents were carefully bundled up on the bed in the package they had come in - she had not wanted to look at them any longer and she had certainly not wanted Francis to have to see them every time he turned around to begin pacing back and forth, hands tugging painfully at his curls.

A burnt and bloodied chunk of skin.

A lock of charred hair.

Yet another ransom note.

A crude drawing, obviously a madman's work.

And a finger.

Yes, Bash's captor had seemingly cut off a finger. No doubt to punish Francis for not paying that first ransom note. Oh, how Mary's heart ached for both her husband and her brother in law. Francis would blame himself forever, but how could he have possibly known that the note was genuine, let alone that his lack of response would cause Bash to lose a finger?

He would not make that mistake again. The ransom had been paid, and he would no doubt continue to pay it now no matter how long it took to get his beloved brother back. Francis would never risk such a thing happening to Bash twice.

"Francis," she murmured, her skirts brushing the stone floor as she rose to her feet, hands held out in a pacifying gesture. "We don't even know for sure if -"

And he must have guessed what she was going to say, the look that he shot her was so full of shock, pain, and horror. Her heart clenched in her chest and she fell silent, returning her gaze to the package on the bed.

How were they ever going to get Sebastian out of this mess?


	4. Chapter 4

**[A/N] Apologies again for the wait. Reviews are welcome!**

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 **Distorted Mirrors**

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 **Chapter 4**

Bash had been here for weeks, and he didn't like to sleep anymore.

When he slept, Enjorlas had certain ways of waking him, and besides that he never got to sleep long. Although it wasn't one of the physically painful ways, Bash thought that the very worst was when he woke up to find Enjorlas just staring at him, rough fingers caressing his cheek. When Bash woke up, Enjorlas would coo at him as if he were some kind of puppy and tell him that he loved him. His captor seemed to find nothing wrong with it, but it terrified him to no end.

Francis had paid the ransom note now, and as Enjorlas continued to send them, Francis continued to pay it. Bash couldn't fathom why - his brother and king had no proof that he was even still alive, let alone that the ransom notes were valid. He wished he could reach out to Francis and tell him not to waste the money the country needed. There was no point. He knew by now that Enjorlas had no intention of letting him go, not as long as he was convinced that he loved him and that Francis would continue paying him.

Sometimes, Enjorlas had friends over. Those were also some of the worst times, almost as much as when Enjorlas woke him that way. Sometimes worse, when they got too carried away.

They liked to play with him the same way Enjorlas did. They touched him. They played "games" with him. The only condition of the friends playing with Bash was that he was not to call them "Master." No, Enjorlas wanted to be his only master.

What frightened him was that now, he was not resistant to it. Sometimes he even caught himself calling his captor that in his thoughts, when he didn't have to. The thought that he was used to this, that all of the "training" was paying off, and Enjorlas was successful in what he was trying to do to him.

Recently, he had begun a new training series, as he called it. When he snapped his fingers, Bash was to go kneel at his side immediately - and if he didn't, he would be burned, hit, kicked, whatever appealed to his captor the most at that exact moment.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as his cell door creaked and Enjorlas entered...and behind him, one of his friends, a duke, Bash thought him to be. This one was big on games, and he liked to make Bash...well, he liked to make Bash suck. He made it a personal game to see if Bash could cause him to finish in two minutes flat. And Bash was finally getting better at it, which sickened him. He told himself he was just tired of being beaten for not doing it right. It wasn't a complete lie. He didn't want to admit he was getting used to this way of life. That his memories of France, Mary, Francis, Kenna, his mother, they all grew fainter with every day.

"Bastard..." Enjorlas cooed, moving toward him, and Bash squeezed his eyes shut. A moment later, the hand was in his hair, stroking and fondling the tousled dark strands. "Bash, my lovely little bastard. I missed you last night. And my good friend has missed you even more. It's been weeks for him. Do you want to play a game?"

And so it began again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Distorted Mirrors**

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 **Chapter 5**

 _10 months._

The cell door creaked open. Bash half-expected the sound that came next before it even happened, and the second his master snapped his fingers, Bash was on his knees at his side, gaze locked on the ground as his own hands shook painfully.

On some level, he had retained the knowledge that Enjorlas was not truly his master, at least for now, and he hated himself for the way he had become. But his mas- his captor certainly knew how to "train" him and he had done a decent job at it. Bash knew full well by now that if he didn't do as he was expected, pain would follow, and each time would be worse than the last. He simply couldn't bear it anymore.

As for his family, his wife, at home, he rarely thought of them anymore. He had pushed them to the back of his mind with the knowledge that they would never find him here - constantly waiting for them was agonizing, and he did not have the strength for it any longer.

"Bash," Enjorlas murmured, and the hand was in his hair again. Bash closed his eyes and fought the urge to scream. "My bastard, my sweet Bash, I think I should like to play a game today."

He kept his eyes closed and tried not to vomit. He hated the games. They weren't fun to play and if he failed to win, they never ended well for him.

"How about you make me finish in under five minutes?" Enjorlas gestured to his trousers, clearly expecting Bash to understand this. Which he did. He hated the fact that he even got it, but he did. "Starting...now." And the trousers dropped to the floor.

Bash's eyes flared wide with panic and he rushed to take it into his mouth immediately, stricken with a sort of terror. Five minutes was easy for him (he had gotten it down to a minute and thirty seconds before) but there was always a sort of frantic panic to this particular one, if only because he knew the dire consequences should he fail.

Enjorlas hummed as it continued past thirty, forty five seconds, a minute, and dropped his head back, his own expression torn between amusement and pleasure. He always seemed to find Bash's terror amusing.

"I love you, Sebastian," he told him, just as it began to reach its peak. Two minutes and twenty seconds. Bash relaxed.

He had, for this moment, escaped the punishment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Distorted Mirrors**

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 **Chapter 6**

 _Twenty-three months._

Francis had a lead on the man who had taken his brother.

Mary watched him as he leaned over the table in the map room with one of the generals, his focus single-mindedly on finding Bash. These past few months as he had finally come closer, he cared about little else.

From what she had managed to get out of her husband, the man who had kidnapped Bash was a Lord Enjorlas, and he had taken Bash to his estate in the mountains. Their spy had told Francis that for the most part, he kept Bash in a kind of dungeon underground, that Bash had only been let upstairs once or twice in the past two years.

Francis had not gone into much detail on the subject with her, but she had seen the pain in his eyes and she could only imagine what had happened to Bash based on his pain and desperation to locate his older brother. Her heart had broken for both of them. For all of them.

She only prayed that Francis would be able to get Sebastian home to them.

But when he did come home, what kind of state would he be in?

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 _Two years._

Bash choked as Enjorlas pulled out of his mouth and he fell forward on his hands and knees, only to receive a swift kick to the side. His master had been gentle the past few days and he hadn't been expecting him to be as rough as he had been just now.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry," he breathed, his arms going to cover his head in a desperate attempt to protect himself from more abuse. There was only one more kick to the side of his chest and then it stopped, much to his surprise.

"You have done so well, my pet." And then the fingers, the ones that always stank of blood and sex, were in his hair, petting it. "I have been thinking that perhaps if you continue to do this well, I will bring you upstairs to join my friends and I for dinner."

Bash risked a peek up at him, wariness filling him. It had not just been dinner the first two times and he doubted it would be now.

"Would you like that, Sebastian?" Enjorlas's voice was filled with a kind of warm amusement, and he chuckled. "It has been some time since I had you in my bed. Would you like that? Would you like to make me feel good on a bed instead of this floor?"

Bash remained silent. Perhaps if he didn't speak, his master would let him be and he wouldn't have to go upstairs. He didn't like it up there.

"Sebastian, when I ask you a question, you will –" Enjorlas fell silent, his eyes narrowing as he spun around to face the cell door, his gaze darkening. "What was that?"

At the end of the corridor, there were footsteps. Voices. And above them all, giving orders, was a voice that Bash would recognize anywhere, even after two years.

Francis.


	7. Chapter 7

Distorted Mirrors

Chapter 7

Bash pressed his back against the wall of his cell, knees drawn to his chest and eyes fixed on the floor as he rocked himself rapidly back and forth, terrified. Enjorlas had instantly disappeared from the cell and had taken off down the hall, toward where Bash knew there to be a hidden passageway.

His master would escape.

Part of him knew that was terrible, but the larger part of him, the one that Enjorlas controlled, told him that it was good. It was good that his master was granted this opportunity.

"Bash?"

Francis was at the door. Francis was at the door and he was sure to be disgusted by what Bash had become. He rocked faster, not allowing himself the privilege of looking into his king's eyes.

Bash slammed his head back against the wall. Once, twice, three times.

His master was not here to punish him and so he would handle it himself. If he did it himself and he did a good job, perhaps Enjorlas would not feel the need to do it when he got back and he would be spared.

"Bash, Bash, please stop, please stop." Bash still couldn't bring himself to look at his younger brother – at his king – but he felt his hands cradle the back of his head, protecting him from inflicting further damage on himself, and he immediately stopped. If he hurt Francis he would be in big trouble.

"Bash, it's alright. I have you. You're safe now."

He finally dared to look up.

"We're taking you home."


End file.
